


Conference Call

by SenorLemur



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Anal Sex, Business Trip, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, Foreplay, Gotham (City) - Freeform, Hotel Sex, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-11 22:29:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7910047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenorLemur/pseuds/SenorLemur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Eobard disliked Gotham -he found it dirty, overcrowded, and corrupt- but he was certainly looking forward to getting out of Central City for a few days and fucking Hartley in a hotel room."</p><p>Harrison/Eobard and Hartley go to a physics conference in Gotham. A loose follow-up to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/7829848">Critical Position</a>, but can be read independently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conference Call

Eobard needed Hartley. Not in the way that Hartley would have liked Eobard to need him, but he needed him nonetheless. Eobard - or Harrison Wells, as he had been known as for the past thirteen years- needed Hartley’s seamless genius for both physics and electrical engineering to finish the particle accelerator on time. Most employees could be fairly easily replaced, but Hartley Rathaway wasn’t one of them. 

He had been well aware of Hartley’s infatuation with him since the day they met, and had done a careful job of cultivating the sexual tension between the two of them to insure the young man’s loyalty. However, when it had come to his attention that Hartley was being contacted by a recruiter from Mercury Labs after two years at S.T.A.R., Eobard had had to further intervene. He could not afford even a chance of losing his best engineer at this point, and if that meant finally indulging Hartley’s fantasies and taking him as a lover, so be it.

Not that Eobard minded the sex- it was nice to be able to relieve tension with a partner again. He avoided dating because he had no interest in it, and avoided escorts and casual hookups for fear of any potential scandal that might set the particle accelerator project back; the last thing he needed was for some attention-seeker to kiss and tell about their experience with Dr. Harrison Wells to a tabloid. Although maintaining a relationship with an employee had its own potential for disaster, Eobard was confident that Hartley would remain discreet. It almost made it worse that he genuinely liked Hartley; he enjoyed his youth, his intelligence, and the veneer of condescending dignity in public that hid an eagerness to please in private. Yet, he knew he would discard Hartley in an instant if his presence meant an obstruction to Eobard’s plan to get back home.

Typically, they met at Hartley’s apartment once or twice a week, but for the past two weeks they had both been too preoccupied preparing for a physics conference in Gotham to see each other outside of work. Eobard disliked Gotham -he found it dirty, overcrowded, and corrupt- but he was certainly looking forward to getting out of Central City for a few days and fucking Hartley in a hotel room.

\-------

The conference was a typical professional meeting. Teachers, researchers, industry professionals, and the vendors who sold to them all met together to talk, network, and update one another on the latest and greatest. Both Eobard and Hartley were presenting at the conference –Eobard continuing to pitch the innovations of S.T.A.R. Lab’s particle accelerator and Hartley leading a seminar on the effects of variable audio frequency on the human brain- and they saw little of each other during the first day of events. 

After the formal seminars were over and the exhibition hall had closed for the day, the part of the conference most of the attendees truly looked forward to began- the eating, drinking, and socializing all charged to a corporate credit card or a vendor’s tab. Eobard and Hartley reconvened at a steakhouse downtown as part of a group of about twenty other attendees from around the country who had been talked into dinner with a sales representative from Wayne Chemical in exchange for free food and drinks. Eobard ordered a double of the most expensive whiskey he could find and watched Hartley drink champagne and talk shop with some PhD students from Gotham University. Despite the efforts of the sales rep, the main topic of conversation over dinner centered on the next day’s keynote speaker, Lex Luthor. However, after several rounds of wine and an order of after-dinner drinks, the subject inevitably changed to the Batman and whether there might be a sighting during the conference.

Eobard tried not to roll his eyes. He didn’t doubt that the Batman existed, but he couldn’t think of a more ridiculous motif for a vigilante, whoever he was- at least the Arrow didn’t name himself after a tiny flying mammal that ate insects. Not to mention that this group would probably be near the top of the running for the crowd least likely to arouse the Batman’s interest. He took this as his cue to excuse himself, and nodded at Hartley, who also stood. They shook the sales rep’s hand and graciously exchanged goodbyes with the rest of the party before making a hasty exit toward the hotel.

They were staying at the Renaissance, a block away from the convention center where the conference was being held. It was all cut stone and art-deco furnishings, from the high ceilings to the wrought-brass detailing on the elevator doors. Just enough polish to cover the sheer layer of grime that seemed to coat everything in Gotham. Hartley’s room was on the fourth floor, Eobard’s on the ninth; Hartley glanced at Eobard and pressed the button to the ninth floor as they stepped into the elevator. 

Eobard had opted for a standard room during his stay –he saw no need for something larger- but even the standard rooms were well-appointed, with luxurious bedding and high quality furniture. He didn’t touch Hartley even after the door closed behind them, but merely slid into the chair next to the desk in the room and kicked off his shoes and socks. 

“How did your talk go?” he asked, taking off his useless glasses.

“It was fine, just as I expected,” replied Hartley, who moved to stand in front of him. “How was your presentation?”

Eobard shrugged. “Fine, just as I expected.” He sighed and tilted his head back as Hartley moved forward to straddle him, sitting with his legs apart on Eobard’s lap.

“No surprises then,” remarked Hartley as he began to casually unbutton Eobard’s white dress shirt. 

“None,” murmured Eobard. He reached around to cup Hartley’s buttocks in his hands and squeeze. Hartley gave up a soft groan and bent his head to kiss Eobard hungrily.

Hartley’s mouth tasted like the Grand Marnier he had been drinking after dinner. Eobard could feel himself getting hard under the younger man’s grinding hips, and he resisted the urge to effortlessly pick Hartley up and press him against the wall. Instead, he broke the kiss and shifted in his chair to signal that he wanted to stand up.

Hartley slid off of Eobard’s lap and made his way to the foot of the room’s king bed. He sat down on the edge and sank slightly into the plush comforter, waiting for Eobard, slacks obviously tented. Eobard stood and stripped off his shirt and the undershirt beneath it, following Hartley to the foot of the bed. Neither of them typically bothered with much foreplay, but the drinks at dinner seemed to have put Hartley in a good mood, and the novelty of being far from Central City in an anonymous place had made even Eobard amenable to taking his time.

He knelt down in front of Hartley and looked up at him silently, lips quirking into a faint smile. Eobard began to unlace and remove Hartley’s shoes, and he could see him gripping the edge of the bed with impatience, even though he said nothing and did not move. He continued to slowly undress Hartley, peeling off his socks and unbuttoning his blue oxford shirt before moving down to unbuckle his belt and unfasten his slacks. He could hear and feel Hartley’s breathing quicken as he shifted to allow Eobard to pull off his pants and boxers, his cock standing alert.

Now naked except for his open shirt and glasses, Hartley stared down at Eobard, already flushed from arousal and alcohol. Eobard met his gaze as he leaned forward to take the head of Hartley’s cock in his mouth. Hartley was the first to look away, shuddering with pleasure at the sensation of Eobard’s mouth around him and his too-warm hands stroking his thighs. 

“Oh my God,” Hartley whispered as he shifted his arms behind him to obtain better leverage to begin thrusting up into the other man’s mouth. Eobard let him thrust several more times before pulling away, wiping his lower lip with his thumb. 

Hartley moved back onto the bed, making room for Eobard to join him. Hovering over him for a moment, Eobard shifted downward to scrape his teeth over a dark pink nipple underneath him before tracing a path downward with his lips, over Hartley’s ribs and stomach. Gently pushing his legs apart and back, Eobard brushed past Hartley’s cock and began to tease his opening with the tip of his tongue. Hartley let out a sharp breath and gave an involuntary shudder, almost a flinch, as Eobard tasted him. Sliding his tongue around the puckered flesh first in slow circles, and then directly over and across, he savored the sound of Hartley’s ragged breathing and sighs of encouragement. His own need, however, was becoming too urgent to ignore, and after a few more moments he drew away and stood up.

Unbuckling his belt and discarding his slacks and underwear to a corner of the room, Eobard felt Hartley watch him retrieve a condom and lubricant from his suitcase. He tossed the bottle of lube onto the bed and quickly rolled on the condom as he watched Hartley slowly touch himself in anticipation.

Hartley had never questioned him about why he always used a condom, except to once naively tell him that he trusted Harrison if he wanted to go without. In truth, Eobard hated the primitive things, but even these times had figured out the rudiments of DNA identification, and he wanted as little physical proof of their liaisons left behind as possible. If things ever did go badly and Hartley decided to try and sue him, he could deny and explain away a stray hair or used coffee cup easily enough- his semen on Hartley’s sheets and body, not so much.

Trying to ignore the feeling of the condom, Eobard redirected himself to the task at hand. Climbing back on to the bed, he found the bottle of lube and hastily slicked some of the clear fluid over his cock as he bent down to hungrily kiss Hartley, feeling the other man’s sex against his belly as he pressed close.

“Are you ready?” breathed Eobard softly, bracing one hand against the headboard of the bed.

“I was ready a week ago.”

Eobard could hear Hartley’s moan of pleasure mingle with his own as he slid inside of him. The tight heat around his cock was exquisite as Eobard began to thrust slowly. He felt Hartley’s arms, still in their shirtsleeves, snake around him; first around his back, fingernails digging into his skin, then lightly scratching downward toward his hips, urging him forward.

“Harrison,” Hartley moaned underneath him. The youthful planes of his face already glistened with a sheen of sweat, and he looked up at Eobard with an unguarded expression of adoration and surrender that made even the latter’s calculated pragmatism falter for a moment. “More.”

Eobard was the first to look away this time. He readjusted his position so that he could push Hartley’s legs back further and began to drive into him at a rougher, faster pace. Hartley’s eyes squeezed shut, and he reached down to stroke himself as Eobard penetrated him. Eobard could feel the orgasm building, each thrust punctuated by a sigh of pleasure, and when he came he felt Hartley moan and shudder with release at the same time.

They made each other come twice more that night. In reality, Eobard took almost no time to recover, and Hartley merely possessed the gift of being twenty-five years old. The second time they fucked, Eobard took him from behind against the room’s polished pine desk. The third time, he let Hartley fuck him, something that rarely happened but that they both enjoyed when it did. 

Eobard’s watch read 02:33 in the morning as he lay in bed listening to Hartley shower. In Central City, he never stayed over at Hartley’s apartment, and Hartley had tried and failed to conceal his happiness when Eobard invited him to share the room for the rest of the night. The first meeting of the day started at 08:00, and Eobard felt optimistic that the remaining days of the conference would be just as, if not more, productive than the first.

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously, the only thing better than really good hotel sex is getting messed up at a work conference on the company dollar.


End file.
